


ignite me (lick at the flames you bring about)

by rosehale



Category: American Actor RPF, Norman Reedus - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hotel Sex, i love norman in a suit??? please help me???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5213693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehale/pseuds/rosehale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>// You push the hair out of his face, feel the sheen of his sweat on his forehead from needing it for so long, and nudge your nose against his, mouth open and tasting his air, like liquor and smoke and you. //</p>
<p>(Who doesn't love hotel sex.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	ignite me (lick at the flames you bring about)

**Author's Note:**

> *dances* i'm a sinner and a winner
> 
> title fiddled with from hold me down by halsey
> 
> obviously, this never happened and is just crap from my sleep deprived brain.

His knee is going. The heel of his boot tap tap tapping on the floorboards, big hands rubbing up and down his thighs while his lower lip is trapped between teeth. Even with every tick of his spiraling out of control, he still somehow manages to look at ease in the chair he's sat in, turned away from the desk so he can watch you in front of the bed, hips swaying with the gentle music playing from the stereo your phone is plugged into. 

The hotel room is quiet, soundproofed probably, but the lights of the city peer in through the huge windows, throwing him into shadow from where you stand, hollows beneath his cheekbones, a darkness to his eyes that isn't usually there. The music is slow and sultry, strong beats woven into the melody that you can move to, dragging your fingertips over your hips, up your stomach. You turn around, showing him your back. 

'Unzip me?'

He tries to say yes but the sound is lost somewhere in his chest, and you shiver at him clearing his throat, 'Yeah,' the heat of his hands against your skin through the fabric of your dress. He's tantalizingly slow, playing the game just as well as you, and he keeps his hands at your hips as the dress falls from your shoulders and then down your legs. You step out of the puddle of black cloth, away from his curious hands that had begun stroking up and down your sides, not missing the whine from behind you as the contact is broken. 

Norman is still in his suit pants and rumpled white shirt, jacket and tie lost somewhere on your way from the door to here, gorgeously disheveled, a flush to his cheeks, a tipsy glaze to his eyes. His legs are spread, but he's leaning forward, subconsciously angling his body towards you as you shake your hair over your shoulders, hope you look better in the dimness, clad in lace underwear, rolling your hips like this to the song than you do each time you've done this in front of the mirror at home. Before, that was just for you, an energizing dance break between pajamas and clothes for the day, but there's something intoxicating about moving like this in front of him, your hands moving to cup your breasts, up to tangle in your hair. Norman's knee is still jiggling, so quick it's a blur in the murky dark, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. A small part of you is flopping over to die as you watch him tense up like this, the subtle shifting of his trousers, eyes hooded as he follows your every movement, this reaction that you've coaxed out of him. 

'Baby?' His voice is low, raspy, a desperation to his expression that makes a rush of heat dive through you, 'I can't wait any longer.'

You move forward, bare feet padding on the floorboards, slotting yourself in between his spread legs, the fabric of his pants pulling up goosebumps on your bare skin. 

'No?'

He licks his lips again, looking up at you with heavy eyes that makes your stomach flip with delight, and shakes his head, 'No.'

You smile, hold his face gently in your hands, barely touching. He swallows hard, Adam's Apple bobbing. His hands grip tight on his knees, creasing the black material, unsure if he can make contact, if he can touch yet, and you move slow against him, the music still playing, your hips rubbing against his stomach, steady, a rhythm. Your palms slip down to his shoulders, fingers dipping into the muscle, and you chuckle, quiet, leaning down closer to him. 

'You're shaking.'

He huffs a laugh, arching his neck to brush his lips against yours. 

'No shit.'

'What are you waiting for then?'

Just like that, with a simple handing over of control, he's shifting into the new position of calling the shots, standing quick out of the chair, reaching to wrap an arm around you when you stumble back, surprised with the sharp movement. Now that he's been given the okay, he's greedy for skin on skin, tearing at the buttons of his shirt, sliding his hands up your back, in your hair, over your bra, down over your stomach, kissing you hard and wet, tongue curling. He guides you back, your knees hitting the edge of the bed and he pulls open the last of his buttons as you sit down, pushing yourself back to the middle of the mattress, the edges of his shirt pulling away to reveal the smooth planes of his chest, dark ink glinting, the band of his underwear just peeking over his pants. Your mouth goes dry at the sight. But you barely have time to take it all in before he's scrambling closer, the heat of his body crashing into yours, gathering you up, hips finding yours.

You fumble with his belt, the clink of metal breaking the sounds of your soft, quick breaths, the filthy sound of him sucking a mark into your neck, the music still going, dirty and low. He sighs as you pull down the zipper of his pants, pulling hopelessly at the snap of your bra before you give in and unlatch it yourself, giggling into his ear the whole time. You have plenty of time, the night is all yours, hidden away in the hotel room, but he's in a hurry, feverish to be lavishing in sin with you, pulling away your underwear until you're naked beneath him, hand in his hair, lips swollen and red. He's grinning, making his kisses clumsy and all the more endearing. Norman moans as he kisses down your neck, to your collarbone, the swell of your breast, the vibration of his sounds rippling over your skin just how he knows you like, and you pull at his shoulders, holding him close, feeling the muscle move under your hands as he guides himself, kicking his way out of his pants until it's just him and you, nothing separating. 

'Oh god,' you chant, 'Oh god,' as he slips a finger into you, then another, knuckles crooking, finding the spot, licking at your jawline, biting gently at your shoulder. You're all nervous energy, writhing, rocking up against him, tucking your face into his neck, kissing at the tiny x tattooed into his skin that makes him groan just right. You come quick and dirty, Norman murmuring in your ear, pressed against you so it's too hot and too close and oh so fantastic. He kisses languid and slow, stroking your hips as you savour in the glow, feeling him needy and wanting but happy to wait, to watch you float and gasp. You push the hair out of his face, feel the sheen of his sweat on his forehead from needing it for so long, and nudge your nose against his, mouth open and tasting his air, like liquor and smoke and you. 

'Okay,' you whisper, fingers scraping over his back where you know his tattoos are, his mouth crashing to yours. He settles himself, spreading your legs with a knee, before wrapping them around his waist, licking over the jut of your collarbone as he sinks in, deep and greedy. You tangle your hands in his damp hair, listen to the curses he spits out, the shivering of his muscles as he holds himself, waits for you to encourage him with a gentle roll of your hips, signalling for him go on. He finds a rhythm quick, slipping into what he knows you and he like and what works and clicks just so exquisitely when you're together. He's handsy and loud, sounds from his chest that make you hold tighter, rise up to meet him harder. 

'Babe, I'm gonna, I'm gonna...' His mouth is open, teeth shining in the city light, forehead pressed to your temple, and you feel him stuff a hand between your slick stomachs, finding what he wants and sending you quickly spiraling towards the point of no return. You arch up, scream scraping at your throat as his whole grip tightens, crushing you close and somehow you still want to get closer, giving up air to shove your face into his shoulder. He swears, a garble of your name mixed in, mouthing at your neck, elbow shaking where he still holds himself up. Your universe spins into nothing but Norman in you and around you and above you and you keep your legs tight around his hips, reluctant to let go, to part in anyway shape or form. 

He falls heavy on your chest, spent, eyes liquid and nose tucked under your jaw. You stroke lazily over his back and begin to untangle from him, the sheets creased and rumpled beneath you. He sighs as he slips away, fumbling a sex-tired body half off you so he's smushed into your side, nuzzling into your shoulder. You could move, clean up, hang up the expensive clothes, but he's mumbling some nonsense into your skin, clumsily pulling a sheet up and over your waist, slinging a leg over yours. Moving away from him isn't an option, and never really was.


End file.
